“Admiral,

 we’ve  taken  a  hit...and  we’re  on  fire”  

 
Reflexively  I  glanced  at  my  watch  at  the  moment  of  impact  0937:25  
 
“Sir,  looks  like  we’ve  been  hit  pretty  bad  –  I  have  to  go.  Will  try  to  reach  you  via  cell  
as  possible.”  
 
Eight  years  ago  this  morning  I  completed  that  voice  report  –  a  report  I  had  never  
imagined  I  would  be  making  from  a  shore  station.  Over  the  years,  through  ramped  
up  tensions  during  the  Cold  war  and  in  the  Gulf  I  always  had  in  the  back  of  my  mind  
the  possibility  of  having  to  make  such  a  report,  but  at  sea  and  under  wartime  
conditions.    
 
Sept  11th  was  a  day  that  started  generally  unremarkably.  I  had  joined  the  OPNAV  
staff  some  five  months  previously  taking  the  billet  as  the  deputy  N51(Strategy  &  
Policy  Directorate)  for  my  1-­‐star  boss,  Ben  Wachendorf.      In  turn,  we  were  part  of  
the  Plans,  Policy  and  Operations  Division  (N3N5),  headed  by  VADM  Keating.    
 
Today  promised  little  change  from  the  preceding,  save  for  the  fact  my  boss  was  in  
Memphis  for  a  promotion  board  and  I  would  sit  in  for  him  at  the  usual  rounds  of  
morning  briefs.  
 
All  through  that  morning  routine,  it  was  fairly  normal.  Most  of  the  concern  (angst)  
was  over  the  soon  to  be  released  ’01  QDR  and  the  possible  impact  it  would  have  on  
Navy.  Those  thoughts  were  foremost  in  my  mind  as  I  headed  off  to  the  ground  floor  
for  the  N3N5  daily  brief.  
 
Our  office  had  just  recently  (the  week  prior)  moved  from  the  old  part  of  the  
Pentagon  to  the  renovated  wedge,  and  the  N3N5  daily  briefs  were  just  starting  to  be  
conducted  in  the  new  Navy  OPS  Center.      
 
Looking  back  on  it  now,  it  seemed  so  mundane,  sitting  there  in  the  cheap  seats  
trading  a  joke  w/the  N3N5  intel  officer.  There  was  something  (undefined)  that  
might  be  brewing  in  Saudi  Arabia  and  Khobar  Towers  flashed  through  my  mind,  
soon  to  be  crowded  out  by  the  multitude  of  other  items,  significant  and  trivial  that  
formed  the  remainder  of  the  brief  and  subsequent  discussion.  
 
With  the  Admiral  gone,  I  jumped  at  an  opportunity  to  get  to  the  pool  early.    I  
remember  looking  at  the  early  September  sky  on  the  way  over,  and  marveling  at  
how  clear  it  was  –    a  deep,  almost  burning  blue  with  none  of  the  trademark  DC  hazy  
grayness  present.    With  a  heartfelt  wish  to  be  strapping  into  a  cockpit  that  instead    
of  logging  on  to  my  computer,  I  thought  -­‐  What  a  day  to  go  flying...  
 
It  was  after  the  workout  that  I  started  catching  the  bits  and  pieces  passed  on  the  
radio  playing  in  the  background.  Snatches  of  “airliner”  “New  York”  “World  Trade  
Center”  could  barely  be  heard  above  the  noise  of  the  locker  room.  On  my  way  out  I  

  1  
stopped  to  check  out  the  TV  in  the  weight  room.  On  screen  was  the  first  tower  and  
the  headline  of  an  airliner  striking  the  WTC.  Unbelievable  I  thought,  on  a  day  such  as  
this  to  hit  something  like  that?  No  sooner  had  the  thought  passed  than  the  second  
tower  was  hit.  
 
Quickly  leaving  the  POAC  I  headed  back  to  the  Pentagon,  a  thousand  questions  
racking  my  mind.  I  stopped  suddenly  and  listened,  hearing  –  nothing.    No  traffic,  no  
planes,  no  birds  –  just  an  eerie  silence.  
 
Back  in  the  office,  people  were  clustered  around  the  few  TVs  we  had  working  at  that  
point.    Seeing  some  of  my  branch  chiefs  I  indicated  I  wanted  to  meet  with  them  in  10  
minutes  and  to  find  the  other  branch  chief.  
 
0935  and  I  finally  get  through  to  the  Admiral  –  they’ve  been  apprised  of  what  is  
going  on  and  he’s  going  to  try  and  catch  the  first  flight  back  to  DC  that  day.  
 
0937:25.  Looking  out  my  window  while  talking  on  the  speakerphone,  I  see  a  
billowing  cloud  of  smoke,  flame  and  debris  suddenly  hurtling  across  the  roofline  of  
the  E-­‐ring  towards  my  window.  Simultaneously  the  building  begins  to  shake,  and  a  
rumbling,  almost  like  a  train  passing  nearly  beneath  us  is  felt.  Having  seen  my  share  
of  plane  crashes  and  leaping  to  the  earlier  events  of  the  day,  it  was  clear  in  my  mind  
what  had  just  happened  –  we’d  been  hit,  probably  with  an  airliner  just  like  the  WTC.  
 
Interrupting  my  boss  I  pass  that  we’ve  been  hit,  the  building  is  on  fire  and  it  looks  
bad.  We’re  going  to  evacuate  the  spaces  and  I’ll  try  to  reach  him  via  cell  later  in  the  
day.  He  rogered  and  signed  off  with  a  ‘good  luck.’  
 
Looking  about  it  was  clear  no  one  needed  prompting  to  evacuate  the  space.  No  
smoke  yet,  but  it  couldn’t  be  far  and  flame  not  soon  afterwards.  With  the  N3N5  
admin  officer  we  make  a  sweep  to  secure  the  classified  material,  close  and  lock  the  
safes  and  make  one  last  check  of  the  space  before  we  evacuate.  
 
Out  in  the  passageway  –  panic.  I  look  towards  the  A-­‐ring  and  see  a  mass  of  people,  
pushing,  shoving,  and  going  –  where?  The  courtyard  and  possible  entrapment?  Uh-­‐
uh.  Two  of  my  branch  chiefs  and  a  couple  of  AOs  with  them  are  coming  back  up  the  
corridor  from  the  A-­‐ring  and  I  tell  them  to  follow  me  –  I  knew  a  short-­‐cut  through  
the  construction  area  that  would  get  us  out  to  South  Parking  and  away  from  the  
building.  At  the  intersection  with  the  E-­‐ring  we  come  across  VADM  Keating  who  is  
genuinely  concerned.  
 
“Will,  take  your  folks,  get  them  out  of  the  building  and  to  safety”  
“Aye  sir  –  are  you  sure  there’s  nothing  we  can  do  here?”  
“No,  get  them  out  and  stand  by  –  I’ve  got  a  bad  feeling  about  the  command  center”  
 

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The  Navy  Command  Center  was  home  to  N513,  one  of  my  three  branches  as  there  
wasn’t  enough  space  in  the  new  offices  for  them.  Glancing  down  the  E-­‐ring  the  
smoke  is  already  thick  in  the  overhead  and  getting  lower.  
 
“Follow  me”  
 
South  Parking  was  a  scene  of  unparalleled  confusion  –  fire  trucks  from  Arlington  
and  other  communities  were  flying  into  the  lot  at  speed,  accompanied  by  law  
enforcement  vehicles  of  all  sorts.  At  the  same  time  private  vehicles  were  dodging  
around  people  on  foot,  trying  their  best  to  get  out.  Pentagon  security  forces,  
suddenly  armed  with  heavy  weapons  we’d  never  seen  them  with  before,  were  
directing  people  away  from  the  building  and  over  to  a  far  corner  of  the  lot.  
“Move  away  from  the  building  –  there’s  another  plane  coming”  
Pushing,  prodding  -­‐-­‐  willing  the  mass  of  humanity  to  move  along,  farther  away  from  
the  burning  building.  
 
Our  group  stopped  at  the  end  of  the  lane  our  evacuation  plan  had  designated.  Seeing  
a  few  other  N51  personnel  we  signaled  them  over  and  did  a  quick  huddle.  
 
“Guys,  I  need  you  to  get  home  by  the  most  expeditious  means  possible  –  stay  by  the  
phone,  for  what  I  don’t  know  yet.  Just  be  ready.  I  am  staying  here  to  see  what  we  can  
do  in  terms  of  reconstitution.”  
 
With  that  they  left  and  with  the  N3N5  admin  officer  and  our  flag  assistant,  we  began  
to  move  again.  The  police  had  other  ideas  though  as  they  continued  to  herd  us  back  
from  the  building,  towards  I-­‐395.  
 
A  sonic  boom.  More  panic  around  us  –  Some  screams  and  muffled  cries;  “There’s  the  
other  plane”  “They’re  going  after  the  Capitol”  “They’ve  hit  the  White  House”  
 
Never  mind  the  fact  the  Capitol  was  still  clearly  visible  and  undamaged.  I  catch  a  
glint  of  sunlight  on  high  –  looks  like  an  F-­‐16  setting  up  low  CAP  over  the  White  
House.  How  many  times  had  I  seen  that  overseas  in  exercise  after  exercise  –  now  
here,  in  real  life,  F-­‐16’s  flying  low  CAP  over  our  nation’s  capitol…  
 
A  general  evacuation  is  now  underway,  but  the  combination  of  traffic,  wheeled  and  
foot,  brings  everyone  to  a  halt.  Pausing  by  one  vehicle  the  driver  tells  us  that  the  
WTC  towers  have  fallen  and  there  are  attacks  going  on  all  over  the  country.  All  air  
traffic  has  been  ordered  to  land  and  the  Air  Force  will  begin  shooting  down  non-­‐
compliers.    
 
As  we  pass  under  I-­‐395  and  head  up  the  hill  to  the  Navy  Annex  and  the  Marine  
Corps  OPS  Center,  we  pause  near  the  Citgo  station,  stunned  at  the  sight  before  us.  
There,  across  the  way  the  smoke  had  lifted  and  we  saw  where  the  plane  had  hit,  a  
major  part  of  the  building  collapsed.    
 

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It  was  a  quiet  group  that  made  its  way  up  the  hill  –  Arlington  Cemetery  to  our  right  
and  the  burning  edifice  of  the  Pentagon  behind  us.  Pausing  one  last  time  to  look  
back  we  headed  inside.  Joining  up  there  with  the  N31  remnant,  we  divided  into  two  
prime  areas  of  responsibility  –  the  N31  folks,  who  were  Current  Ops,  went  about  
trying  to  reconstitute  their  functions  from  the  Navy  Ops  Center,  reaching  out  to  
touch  the  Fleet.  Our  group,  smaller  in  number,  set  about  assessing  the  damage  to  
N3N5;  more  particularly,  what  was  the  extent  of  our  losses.  
 
With  recall  lists  in  hand  we  set  about  calling  to  conduct  the  muster.  At  the  other  end  
of  the  phone  lay  mixtures  of  joy  and  anxiety.  
 
The  hours  passed  and  soon  the  numbers  weren’t  changing.  One  last  round  of  calls  
before  contacting  the  Casualty  Assistance  Center  that  was  being  established  at  the  
Navy  Yard  across  town.    
 
“No,  he’s  not  coming  home  is  he?”  “What  will  I  do?”  The  pain  and  anguish  were  clear  
over  the  phone.  
 
Twenty-­‐nine  missing.  Twenty-­‐nine  families  who  would  not  have  a  someone  coming  
home  that  night.    Word  had  it  that  the  Army  lost  even  more  folks,  and  then  there  
was  NY.      There  was  also  a  rumor  of  an  airliner  that  had  either  crashed  or  been  shot  
down  –  we  didn’t  know  yet.  I  hadn’t  seen  any  TV  since  prior  to  the  strike  on  the  
Pentagon  (and  wouldn’t  until  the  following  day).  Right  now  though,  Twenty-­‐nine  
MIA.  Between  a  fifth  and  a  quarter  of  a  typical  VAW  squadron.    
 
With  heavy  heart  and  pounding  head  I  picked  up  the  phone  to  call  the  Casualty  
Assistance  Center  to  pass  along  the  information.  As  I  do  I  ask  about  the  CACO’s  who  
will  be  assigned.  As  a  list  of  junior  officers,  many  of  them  stash  Ensigns  were  read  
off,  I  offered  the  services  of  our  officers.  We  had  enough  remaining  from  N51,  N52  
and  some  from  N31  that  were  more  senior  and  could  accompany  the  notification  
teams.  Everyone,  not  just  uniformed  personnel  would  have  a  team  assigned  –  
government  and  contractor  civilian,  retired  as  well  as  Reserve  and  active  duty.  They  
all  would  have  a  team  assigned.  I  started  making  the  calls  and  to  a  man,  there  was  no  
hesitation.  As  time  passed,  these  initial  assignments  stretched  out  to  weeks  and  
months  afterwards,  but  they  provided  our  families  with  continuity  and  an  
experienced  POC  to  steer  them  through  the  challenges  that  lay  ahead  long  after  the  
official  CACOs  had  been  reassigned.    
 
By  now,  it  was  well  after  midnight  and  the  events  of  the  day  had  finally  caught  up  in  
physical  and  emotional  form.  Heading  back  down  the  hill  to  South  Parking  to  pick  up  
my  car  for  the  long  drive  home  we  passed  the  triage  area  set  up  under  the  110  
overpass,  passed  the  fire  trucks  and  ambulances  still  working  the  fire  –  the  sky  
above  us  now  a  hellish  grey-­‐orange  glow.  It  would  be  a  short  turnaround  –  
 
I  was  tasked  as  the  overall  N3N5  Casualty  Coordinator  (in  addition  to  being  the  N51  
Deputy  and  now,  the  N513  Branch  Head)  and  twice  daily  worked  through  the  

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casualty  conferences  that  ID’d  our  MIAs,  changing  their  status  from  missing  to  
killed.  We  did  have  one  survivor  (Kevin  Schaffer)    who  was  in  the  burn  unit  in  
Washington  Hospital  with  burns  over  40%  of  his  body.  It  was  dicey  there  for  a  while  
and  one  day  we  thought  we’d  lost  him,  but  he  pulled  through  and  is  today  working  
in  DHS.  On  top  of  this  we  had  a  multi-­‐front  war  to  plan  and  fight,  one  that  was  
familiar  and  yet  again,  altogether  different  than  those  we  had  previously  fought  as  
well  as  the  challenge  of  getting  ourselves  back  into  the  Pentagon.  
 
By  the  end  of  the  month  the  funerals  had  begun.  From  small,  family  only  services  to  
a  Naval  Academy  chapel  filled  to  the  rafters  –  some  at  Arlington  and  others  back  in  
their  home  states;  we  buried  our  shipmates.  Catholic,  Protestant,  Hebrew,  
Buddhist…a  deep,  painful  slice  of  America  was  being  buried.  Each  had  a  story  to  tell  
–  whether  they  were  a  former  ship’s  CO,  retired  P-­‐3  aviator,  a  second  generation  
Vietnamese  immigrant,  a  sailor  from  Chicago,  a  husband  on  his  first  shore  tour  with  
his  bride  -­‐-­‐  all  represented  this  great  nation.  
 
Some  number  of  years  ago  I  had  the  honor  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  survivor  
of  the  attack  on  Pearl  Harbor.  A  young  seaman  then  stationed  on  the  battleship  
Nevada,  he  related  his  story,  his  memories.  And  as  he  talked  about  the  aching  beauty  
of  that  peaceful  Sunday  morning  –  I  wondered.  
 
I  wondered  how  I  would  feel  and  react  in  a  similar  situation.  
 
And  I  think  I  now  know…and  will  never  forget.  
 
Thank  you  and  God  bless  our  departed  shipmates,  their  families  and  those  who  still  
serve  and  hold  the  light  of  Freedom  high.  
 
May  we  never  forget  them.  
 

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